


Tired with the World’s Weight

by Elenothar



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Post-Canon, gen focus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-10
Updated: 2017-12-10
Packaged: 2019-02-13 00:18:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12971550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elenothar/pseuds/Elenothar
Summary: Two veterans cope with the advent of another war.(Percival & Theseus, WWII)





	Tired with the World’s Weight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [duckiesinaline](https://archiveofourown.org/users/duckiesinaline/gifts).



> Hope you enjoy it, duckiesaline!
> 
> Beta credit to the wonderful hamelin-born. Title courtesy of F. Scott Fitzgerald.

 

 

-

 

Percival Graves was not a man easily disquieted, but the proposition laid out to him at the ministry today had upset his carefully-maintained equilibrium. As tended to follow such occurrences, that evening he found himself brooding in front of the sitting room fire. Only a herculean effort at self-control kept his thoughts from wandering down dark lanes of memory he had no wish to retread.

 

With Newt out of the country, the house was quiet, devoid of its usual chaos and army of skittering creatures taken under his husband’s wing. The sound of the front door opening scraped noisily in the silence, but Percival didn’t move from his slouch on the sofa. It could only be one person and the cadence of steps on the hardwood floor confirmed it. Where the door’s _thump_ hadn’t roused him, the ever so slightly uneven rhythm of Theseus’ steps _did_ make Percival straighten, any levity he might have mustered fleeing entirely. Theseus’ limp only ever became noticeable when he was extremely stressed. Indeed, when he entered the lounge Theseus looked as tired as Percival felt. They had both aged since their happy-go-lucky days, wrinkles appearing with increasing frequency and silvery grey hair ousting ginger and black bit by bit, but of late weariness had carved more lines that refused to fade. This new war wasn’t being kind to any of them.

 

Percival cocked his head, dark eyes cataloguing his best friend’s bearing, all the tells Theseus often wished Percival didn’t know about, that whispered of tension and weariness to anyone who knew what to look for. “No luck?”

 

Theseus’ shoulders slumped, lips twisting into a silent snarl as he poured himself a generous measure of firewhiskey. Percival made a mental note to buy some more bottles – with the way things were going their stores were getting rather depleted.

 

Theseus sank into the armchair nearest to the fire, the one that Percival always left free for him because he knew the way his friend’s old wounds hurt in the cold. Some well-applied heating charms did well enough for Percival himself, though the knee Grindelwald had all but shattered in order to keep him contained had started giving him more and more trouble lately, especially on chillier days like this one.

 

Cradling his glass in his hands, Theseus stared into the depths of the bronze liquid. “We’re still seeing the remains of Fawley’s blunders. Spencer-Moon is doing his best, but too many are still convinced that Grindelwald will confine his despotic aspirations to mainland Europe.”

 

“It’s been a _year_ of him rampaging across borders,” Percival growled, fingers twitching on the upholstery of the sofa.

 

Theseus snorted. “Blind idiots, the lot of them. Not that your lot are helping any with your isolationist policies.”

 

Percival’s fingers stilled. “Hardly fair to call MACUSA my lot when I gave up on them years ago.”

 

Theseus’ one-shouldered shrug could’ve been an apology, but then he knew that Percival hadn’t truly taken offense. Percival had made his peace with his decision to leave MACUSA behind after the first Grindelwald mess – Newt and Theseus both hadn’t given him any reason to regret his choice, and England had been kind to him after his relocation.

 

“Do you still hear from that auror? Goldstein?”

 

Percival sighed. “Occasionally. She’s busy trying to get them to wake up to the threat. If anyone can do it, it’ll be her.”

 

For a long moment neither of them spoke. Then Theseus said, with feeling, “Politics _suck_. Remember the days when we were running around actually doing things and only had to worry about not getting ourselves killed?”

 

The corner of Percival’s mouth curled up. “If only you had known then that becoming a war hero would lead to _this_.”

 

“The universe’s shitty sense of humour,” Theseus agreed and gulped down the last of his drink. A bit of smoke curled from between his lips. “When’s Newt due back?”

 

Percival consulted his mental Newt calendar. “Two weeks, if he’s stuck to the plan. His last letter came from French Upper Volta.”

 

Theseus’ eyebrow flicked up and they snorted in unison. The day that Newt Scamander stuck to a schedule they could both retire. Once their dry mirth had died down, Theseus shifted in his seat so he was facing Percival, blue eyes suddenly keen.

 

“ _So_. If it isn’t Newt who has your hackles up, what is it?”

 

Percival bit back another sigh. His own tells had never been a mystery to the other man either.

 

He wasn’t ready yet. The department had given him two weeks to think about their proposition, and he didn’t intend to give them an answer a moment sooner. They knew the magnitude of what they were asking of him.

 

“Have you had dinner yet?” he asked mildly. “I can ask Milly to whip something up.”

 

Theseus’ gaze sharpened even as he waved the suggestion off. “ _Percival_.”

 

He raised a silvered eyebrow. Two could play that game. “ _Theseus_.”

 

Whatever Theseus read in his expression, it made him slump back into his chair. “Fine, keep your silence for now. Just promise me you’ll tell me before it becomes acute. Whatever it is.”

 

Percival nodded.

 

At first he’d thought living with Newt and Theseus both would be a recipe for disaster, between Newt’s chaos and Theseus’ stubborn determination whenever he thought he was in the right (which was most of the time). Well, _at first_ Percival had been too damaged to think much about anything. It had taken six months after being freed from Grindelwald’s prison by Picquery herself for him to recover enough to even contemplate going anywhere else, and by that point Newt had become as much of an anchor for him as Theseus.

 

Since then he’d been quietly thankful that he had put Theseus down as next of kin during the war – the first war. At the time he hadn’t wanted to burden his mother with the possibility of making medical decisions about her sole child while he fought a continent away, but he had never got around to changing it after. Hadn’t really wanted to, either, for all that they had parted ways and only seen each other occasionally for years after the fighting ceased. Percival hadn’t even met Newt till the aftermath of Grindelwald’s infiltration of MACUSA, when Theseus had decided to move Percival from New York to the Scamander estate in England to recuperate. He had made a token attempt to return to his old life once recovered – a trip that had made it abundantly clear to him that there was no place for him in MACUSA anymore. It had taken years for the sting of the distrust and suspicion directed at him to fade – perhaps they could’ve adjusted in the wake of Grindelwald’s deception, but leaving for a year afterwards, trusting some foreigner as next of kin above his own people… it had been too much. He’d been replaced and well on the way to forgotten when he’d returned from England, the space he’d inhabited in the US filled so thoroughly it had taken him less than a week to decide to leave again. Seeing Newt and Theseus standing in the doorway to the manor house, ready to welcome him back, had been the final nail. He hadn’t gone back to America since.

 

And the truth of it was that living with the Scamander brothers was _easy_. Theseus might be stubborn and determined and occasionally too self-righteous, but he was also Percival’s best friend, someone he had lived through the horrors of war with together, who had saved Percival just as Percival had saved him, and who, for such a head-strong individual, was rather good at respecting boundaries and letting Percival do his own thing. And Newt… well, _that_ friendship had developed into something more and Percival had never been happier.

 

The weight of Theseus’ hand on his shoulder drew him out of his thoughts, and he smiled up at his friend, who offered silent comfort as easily as Newt adopted yet another stray creature.

 

-

 

A week passed and true to his word Theseus didn’t raise the subject of Percival’s increasingly obvious preoccupation. Another letter from Newt arrived, this one from Nigeria, full of the usual tales of fantastic creatures and thinly veiled worry about the situation back home, apart from which he seemed to be in good spirits. Staring down at the worn parchment, dotted with blots of ink and a small red smear in one corner that he really hoped wasn’t what he thought it was, Percival couldn’t quite contain his longing. He hadn’t seen Newt in person for two months and their bed felt empty without him, life a little greyer. Theseus was often busy, too, whereas Percival’s own role as a consultant who was called on whenever the Department of Magical Law Enforcement felt out of their depth or needed extra manpower swung between far too many hours per week and none.

 

He still didn’t have an answer for the Investigations Department.

 

He hadn’t asked Newt to come back early either. He _could_ do so – these days Newt always carried an instant portkey with him when he went travelling the world. Percival only needed to twist his ring three times and its counterpart on Newt’s finger would warm, alerting him that he was needed. Theseus’ idea of a wedding present. Once Percival would’ve teased him about appropriate levels of paranoia, but ten years as Director of Security at MACUSA had taught him differently.

 

On the second day of the second week, at dinner, Percival finally broke his silence.

 

“The Investigations Department approached me,” he said quietly and Theseus froze with a spoon full of pumpkin soup halfway to his mouth.

 

Theseus’ eyes narrowed. “What did they want?”

 

Percival’s spoon clinked against the bowl as he set it down, before the sudden fine tremor in his fingers could make it fall. “They want me to liaise with their team in France. The one in charge of bringing Grindelwald to justice.” A humourless smile twisted his lips. “Apparently I’m one of the few people in the world who can claim to have spent a fair bit of time with him, and Dumbledore still isn’t budging from Hogwarts.”

 

Theseus’ eyes blazed and only a quick wave of Percival’s fingers stopped pumpkin soup from splattering all over the table cloth. “You were tortured by that maniac for _weeks_. That’s hardly just ‘spending time’ with him!”

 

Percival didn’t wince, didn’t flinch as he once had. “They think I have a better chance of getting into his head than someone who has never met him and they _do_ have a point.”

 

 _However much I might wish they didn’t_.

 

“It still isn’t right to ask this of you,” Theseus growled, the kind of stubborn set to his mouth that usually heralded a protracted argument that Theseus inevitably ended up winning.

 

A muscle jumped in Percival’s jaw. “Do you think I don’t know that? They’re desperate. No one’s been able to even get _near_ Grindelwald since he escaped MACUSA’s custody and this war is burning Europe to the ground. You’ve read the reports.”

 

Theseus was staring at him, hands clenched on the table. When he spoke, his voice was terribly even. “You’re going to do it.”

 

“I don’t want to,” Percival said, entirely honest.

 

Theseus’ shoulders slumped. “But you’re going to.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Does Newt know?”

 

Now Percival did wince. “I haven’t told him yet. He’s still in Africa.”

 

Theseus crossed his arms, clearly judging him for this lapse, but let the topic lie for the moment. He knew Percival was quite aware of what Newt’s opinion on being kept in the dark on such a big issue would be.

 

“And you definitely have to go to France? You can’t help coordinate from here?”

 

Percival shook his head. “The unit is as independent as they can let it be. The more information flow there is, the greater the chances of Grindewald catching wind of it.”

 

“All right then. When do we leave?”

 

“ _We_ , Theseus?”

 

“You’re my _brother_ , Percy. Literally, even, these days. You didn’t think I would let you gallivant into a warzone on your own at your age, did you?”

 

Mention of their status as relatives never failed to warm him, even years after the wedding – Theseus’ expression, caught between surprise and self-satisfaction when he discovered that Newt and Percival had been ‘carrying on’ had been a particular highlight – but Percival refused to soften his glare. “I’m hardly decrepit. Don’t you have responsibilities here?”

 

“Politics.” Theseus snorted. “Someone else can deal with those. I’ve been itching to be of some real use anyway.”

 

Well, that was certainly true. Still.

 

“You realise that Newt will murder us both if we get ourselves killed?”

 

Theseus winced theatrically. “Are you kidding? If we aren’t careful he’s going to insist on coming with and then we’ll really be in trouble.”

 

Percival and Theseus shared the silent wish for Newt to stay as far away from this war as possible. Newt, on the other hand, didn’t seem nearly as bothered.

 

“If he wants to come, neither of us will be able to stop him,” Percival pointed out dryly, then started laughing at the expression of exaggerated chagrin on Theseus’ face. A moment later Theseus joined him in his mirth. It felt good, a release of the tension he’d been carrying around ever since the Investigations Department had first approached him.

 

“Grindelwald won’t know what hit him,” Theseus got out in between gasps of laughter. Percival’s own breath hitched. Perhaps he wouldn’t. Or perhaps he had learned from New York and they were all going to their death. There was no way of telling, though Percival tended to err on the side of pessimism where Grindelwald was concerned.

 

 _And for good reason_.

 

Theseus had sobered too, the sparkle of humour in his eyes replaced by cold steel. “We’re going to get him, Percival. One way or another. Even if we have to drag Dumbledore out of Hogwarts by his oversized beard.”

 

Percival swallowed hard, the absolute conviction in Theseus’ voice sinking into his bones. He _had_ to believe it, or they might as well just give up now.

 

Percival Graves had done many things over the course of his life, but he had never once given up.

 

“Yes, Thes, we will,” he said and his voice didn’t waver.

 

He could face another war with Newt and Theseus on either side of him.

 

 

-


End file.
